Here's what I need to do: 1. Get Hobby, 2. Floss. Blogging just gets in the way.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Steph's Brothers

I became friends with Stephanie because she is a gentle and warm person. She is caring and considerate and always has a smile on her face. Also, she lives with her four incredibly hot brothers. Stephanie spends most of her time at home taking care of her brothers. They show their appreciation by opening stubborn jar lids and leaving toilet seats up.

I love going to Stephanie's house. I try to get there just before her brothers get home from work. I never have enough time to remove their bedroom doors from the hinges but, I can usually remove all the towels from the bathrooms before they get home. The words, "Steph, where are the f*cking towels?" are magical. I am always happy to bring a freshly folded towel into the steamy bathroom.

Walking into Stephanie's house, the aroma of Hamburger Helper is overpowering. Stephanie is a culinary genius. She can turn a box of noodles and a flavor packet into a meal by just adding water.

Her brothers are hard working men and sometimes, her home smells like sweat. Stephanie relies on air freshener to make her home smell less offensive. The result is usually a nauseating combination of vanilla or cinnamon and work boots.

Last night, I walked through Stephanie's back door and was assaulted by the smell of old lady. I crinkled my nose and looked around to see where the elderly woman was hiding. Stephanie was glowing with pride over her latest purchase. She ordered a case of scented candles from a catalog. The old lady scented candle was her favorite.

Smiling, she put the box of assorted candles in front of me. I closed my eyes and sniffed each candle. I liked the one that smelled like sex the best but, the one that smelled like wino was nice too.

As we scattered the candles tastefully throughout the house, I casually asked when the boys would be home. Stephanie informed me that she was tired of cleaning up after grown men and had kicked her brothers out. Maintaining my cool, I asked if she had lost her f*cking mind and demanded to know why she would foolishly jeopardize our friendship.

Stephanie ignored my hysterics and asked if I'd like some Hamburger Helper. I can't eat Hamburger Helper if I'm not surrounded by four delicious men. I thanked her and declined. I wished her all the best with her smelly candles and left abruptly.

I'll miss Stephanie. It's hard to find a good friend with four attractive brothers.

Friday, September 07, 2007

The Cure

Last night, Sue (my blindingly beautiful but, one chromosome over being severely retarded friend) needed to talk to me. She always turns to me when she is exploring personal growth because I am a very supportive person. Also, I use small words when I talk.

Since her boyfriend started his court ordered community service project, she's been feeling like she doesn't make a difference in the world. She wants to get more involved but, doesn't know where to start. I was happy to help her become a better person because I'm pretty sure that by default, that makes me a better person.

I know a lot about community involvement. Growing up, Dad was an activist. He was always boycotting something. We ate Hershey's chocolate because the Nestle company had an unsavory relationship with Ethiopia. We didn't have GE appliances due to their leading role in production of nuclear weapons. Dad drank shade grown coffee before it was stylish. He coordinated bands of Hippies who participated in relief efforts in Cuba and Mexico. He collected children's picture books for the students at Southern colleges and universities.

I asked Sue questions in order to find a cause where she could add value. She swears too much to work with children. She hates nature. Sue prefers to be surrounded by a lot of people and likes the color pink. In a moment of brilliance, I suggested that she participate in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure.

She twisted her face in thought and said, "I never really got into The Cure. Is there another band that I could race for?"

I told her that I'd look into it but, until then, the best service she could do for the community was to keep using reliable birth control.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

F*ck Shui

To everyone who sent me an email asking if I'm okay, I am alive. It's just that I've been busy. I blame do-it-yourself design shows and slutty shorts.

I manage my household finances by wearing slutty shorts and high heels. It's not classy but, it's economical. Rather than remitting payments in a timely fashion, I prefer to greet the utility trucks while wearing slutty shorts. Usually, I find that the utility company employees have no plans to interrupt my service. Rather, they are simply making a routine customer service visit to stare at my camel toe.

I have been particularly successful with my cable provider. I have no less than 20 home design channels. I sat in front of the television for three days learning how to transform my patio into an outdoor oasis for under $0.15 using materials from my trash. I was inspired.

I am too lazy to hang curtains in my bedroom. Sometimes, I would like a little privacy. Because I am practically a genius, I went to Lowe's paint department and had the paint guy match the color of my skin perfectly. Now, I can walk around naked in my bedroom without worrying about my neighbor who has started parking outside my bedroom window. I'm thinking about painting polka dots all over the room in the same shade as my nipples.

My freshly painted walls seemed bare. I purchased a large mirror in a green wooden frame and went home, ready to make decorating magic. Hanging a mirror is not as easy as it looks on TV. On design shows, mirrors are always hung tastefully over a piece of furniture far, far from the bed. No one ever hangs a mirror on the wall next to the bed. I noted how a mirror next to the bed changed the theme of my bedroom from Tranquil Retreat to Amateur Porn Paradise. I was not satisfied.

Defeated, I sat on the couch and watched several more hours of do-it-yourself decor, hoping to see a show for people who like to watch themselves in bed. I learned how to apply an "antique" finish, which would make the mirror an interesting focal point but, still in poor taste. Covering the frame with fabric would be a simple and fun Saturday project but, would not class my bedroom up in the slightest.

Then, as if possessed by shabby chic-ness, I salvaged an old chair with a new coat of paint and recovered the seat with a scrap of leftover fabric in a kicky color. I put casters on the chair and wheeled it into my bedroom. I rested the mirror on the chair and rolled it about the room to find all the best angles.

I had conquered my design challenge. It seems that a mirror next to the bed is slutty but, placing the mirror on a "vintage" rolling chair, is eclectic.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Purse Impressions

I try to be the best friend that I can be. I am a giving and caring person. As a friend, I rarely drink the last beer in the fridge. If I borrow a bracelet, generally, I return it to it's owner (unless it looks better on me, which I cannot help, it is just meant to be).

When I shop with my friends, I am truthful. I never lie about how much (or little) a pair of jeans flatters the a$$. I encourage my friends to buy stuff that will look great on me so that I can borrow it. My friends can count on me because I am fair and thoughtful. When it comes to shopping, I am practically the best friend that anyone has ever known.

It should serve as no surprise that my friends highly value my opinion when dating someone new. Last weekend, Karon met a new man. James and Karon went out for dinner and later, for drinks. Karon called me from the restroom of the bar. She was having a great time. James was interesting and respectful and attractive but, something was not quite right. I agreed to show up at the bar and check him out for myself. First date ambushes are one of my specialties.

A first date ambush is a lot like a first date. I show up late, order a few cocktails and talk about myself. The biggest difference is that I don't bother to put on mascara. I try to keep the focus on my friend and mascara would be a distraction. Another major difference between a first date and a first date ambush is that I don't stick my tongue down the guy's throat. Sometimes, that part doesn't go as well as I had intended.

I showed up at the bar and quickly found Karon and James. I hadn't even taken a seat when I knew what was wrong with him. I walked over to the table and James, the perfect gentleman, stood up and shook my hand. He offered me a seat. He pulled out the chair and made a space for me by removing his man purse. I stayed for a cocktail and made polite small talk about the weather and the presidential debates and about whether or not my hair is too red. I avoided making conversation about fashion as I knew that I was not above discussing his purse. When I finished my drink, I politely excused myself and left the two of them to finish their date.

The next day, Karon came over with a bottle of wine to review the evening with me. Everything had gone well but, she didn't feel any chemistry. "What am I going to tell him to get out of a second date?" she asked me.

"Tell him his shoes didn't match his damn purse," I responded.

I wish that she would consider dating him another time. I'm dying to know what he keeps in him man purse.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

No Love, Courtney

When Whitney Houston's irrational behavior and unkempt appearance were captured by the paparazzi, Courtney Love appeared like a rehab angel. She pledged her emotional support to Whitney as she cleaned herself up and rid herself of Bobby Brown. More recently, Courtney approached Brittney Spears, offering to stand by her side during her darkest days.

I needed Courtney Love's support in the last few days. I am not ashamed to admit that I had a serious bug problem. I thought if anyone could understand the chaos that bugs create, it would be Courtney. She's dealt with bugs. She's overcome them. I went through Hell because of bugs. Still, Courtney never called. Maybe she only comes to the rescue of people with names ending in "ney." I see no other explanation. Surely, I picked off enough of my own skin over the last week to merit a call.

Obsessive-compulsive tendencies aside, I blame the cat and his fleas for the skin picking. Before the fleas, everything was so right between the two of us. It was much like a marriage, he was getting fat and we shared a bed without sex.

I nearly lost everything because of the fleas. I feverishly paced the pet aisle of the grocery store, scratching and twitching, looking for a product that promised to cause permanent scarring of the lungs if inhaled. In local pet stores, I attracted the attention of Homeland Security by purchasing large quantities of poisonous fogger bombs intended for professional use. I borrowed money from friends and family to support my need for flea treatments. When the money was gone, I did things that I'm not proud of for flea collars.

Despite the haze of toxic chemicals in my home, I felt the presence of fleas for days. I was convinced that they had become resistant to commercial pesticides and had adapted, becoming ever quicker and invisible. The only thing worse than a bug problem is an imaginary bug problem.

Imaginary bugs can make time stand still. Hours, maybe even days passed as I pursued invisible parasites. New freckles from my recent sunburn came to life with astounding flea-like realism and burrowed under several layers of skin. It is exceedingly difficult remove a freckle. Freckles are also incredibly resilient to suffocation and will not emerge from the skin even when covered in a dab of clear nail polish.

It's been a difficult journey but, I think that the bugs are behind me. I have been bug-free for 72 hours, no thanks to Courtney Love.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Change of Pace

Lately, I just haven't been into this blog. I think we're growing apart. Maybe we need to try something new. Tell me, is there something you'd like to see here? A burning question? Is there a post that you'd like a follow up to?

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Pants and Entertaining

I'm sleepy from entertaining into the early morning hours. After all that entertaining, I was exhausted and a little sticky. When I woke up this morning, I thought about writing a post but, I could not resist the ease and convenience of morning entertainment. Good entertainment, day or night, makes me retarded and unable to write.

Removing my pants always helps me think.

I prefer not to wear pants when I am home alone. I stand in front of the fridge without my pants and eat pickles. I talk on the phone without my pants on. Sometimes, I just sit there and do nothing without my pants on. Everything that I do with pants, is better without pants.

I like to entertain without being burdened by pants. However, the etiquette for not wearing pants while home alone is very different from not wearing pants at home while entertaining.

During the entertainment, I would rather not stand in front of the fridge, eating pickles with no pants on. If I am eating pickles, it's a pretty good clue that I am not being entertained enough.

I will not answer my phone if it rings while I am being entertained. It's rude to talk on the phone without pants when engaging in entertainment. Anyone foolish enough to answer the phone while I am entertaining, will find that all entertainment will abruptly cease. When the phone call has ended, I may not feel like entertaining any more. Occasionally, I can be persuaded.

For a change of pace, I like to lie on my back without my pants and do nothing but enjoy the entertainment and the view. Sometimes, I'll even take a moment to entertain myself.